Hope
by HolleringHawk65
Summary: Cleopatra wants to be free. The Hunger Games gives her hope, even with all of its twisted wickedness. From falling in love with people she shouldn't be, to friends she'll never forget, she's in waist deep as conspiracies are rising. Will Cleo come out of the 13th Hunger Games as District 8's first Victor, or will she get caught in the crossfires of politics?
1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:** I'm going to give credit where credit is due. This was inspired by my friend Flashback from the Future's story _Don't take Nothin' from Nobody_, it's great so please check it out!

These chapters are kind of short for my usual writing, but seeing as this is my first Hunger Games fanfic, whatever! :)

Also, I'm considering this an AU because everything is a bit more 'lax' than in the books, but it could be a 'before'…

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hunger Games franchise; this is just an idea that spurred upon me.

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**Chapter 1** _The Meeting_

My name is Cleopatra. Or, rather, it was. My grandmother had changed it when my parents had died in the rebellion when I was three. She tells people my name is Patrice. She says it's a 'safe' name. Though how a name could be dangerous, I don't know.

My 'loving' grandmother hands me a dress and tells me to get in it. I don't want to, put I have to because tomorrow is the reaping and she wants to make sure it fits.

I haven't told her, but I'm going to volunteer. I'm going to leave Patrice behind and be Cleopatra. I hate my life in the urban district 8, complete with my wedding after the Games, if I'm not chosen.

Or if I hadn't decided to volunteer already.

Don't get me wrong; Samuel is perfectly nice, but I'm me and he's _him_ and there is _no way_ I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a guy five years older than me who already has a child to take care of! I refuse to be tied down to a fate like that.

As I get dressed, the dress feels smooth against my skin. It's silk, and it belonged to my mother. I don't know why I'm wearing it to the reaping, but I am.

I look into my mirror. The dress fits perfectly, and I wonder if I look like my mother in it. There are no pictures of her, and I'd never heard about her from my grandmother.

My grandmother opens the door. "That will double as your wedding dress." She tells me.

I take it off and hang it on my closet doorway.

I get dressed into a pair of jeans and a button up. I'm on my way out the door when my grandmother yells my 'name.'

I walk into the kitchen to find her standing over a mess that I guess was suppose to be dinner. I silently get a bucket of water and a rag and clean up the mess. It smells horrible, so I'm left guessing if it was food or dye for fabrics.

I fight myself from gagging on the smell, but I clean it up. I don't know what leads me to do this. Maybe I want the house to be presentable if some poor sap comes to the house. Or, it really shouldn't matter, because I'm leaving tomorrow for good.

It doesn't matter if I die in the 13th Hunger Games. The Capitol is looking for something to sate their queer appetites, and I'll do my best.

I get up and brush myself off. I turn on the faucet and grab a glass. My stomach feels so funny I know that I need to drink.

"Hello," I look up and see Marcus Ulmstead. He is the newest escort for District 8, this only being his second year. "Cleopatra Shaft, yes? Age sixteen, and to be married to Warehouse manager Samuel Eerstein later this year."

"My name is Patrice." I correct him.

His head turned to the side a little bit, observing me. "Your birth certificate would state otherwise." He told me.

"Why are _you_ looking at that?" I asked him, folding my arms.

"I'm an escort. It's what I do. What truly interests me about you is this," he took something out of the inside of his suit jacket. I had to think that even though he couldn't possibly be much older than me, he was dressed like he was twice his age; like an adult.

He handed me a paper, but I can't read. I look down at it, my eyes scanning over the page.

"Cleo…you can't read, can you?" He asks me. I shake my head and give it back to him. "Can you speak?"

"A lil'," I tell him. Truth is, my vocal chords were damaged when I was younger.

He comes closer and tilts my head up. I meet his amber flecked hazel eyes as I slowly come around to the fact his face is undeniably close to mine.

"You want to get away." He assumes. "You want to leave this wretched place and never come back. You don't care if you die or not. You're just so _sick_ of toxic fumes and pricking your fingers and that _terrible_ woman that raised you because your parents _died_."

All I can do is nod.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Cleopatra." He told me.

I just stand there, even after he's left. My grandmother comes back eventually. She asks me why it isn't completely cleaned up yet, and all I do is shrug. If she wants it to be freaking cleaned, she can do it herself.

I go to my room, not caring if she's yelling at me or not. I close and lock the door, knowing she won't come in. I just go to sleep on my bed, even though it's only nine o'clock. I'm tired and I'm not quite sure what's going to happen tomorrow.

My dream was filled with wolves, sheep, deer, and fish. Sheep were eating fish as wolves ran away, and a deer walked beside me in a field of red. The sky was black, but the moon was white, full, and bright. I saw in front of me, but I didn't want to.

Innards were being ripped out, and charred bodies lay in unnatural positions.

_I felt like I was being suffocated as my vision became blurry. Then, who knows who, pulled me up, into his strong arms._

"_I won't let you die." He told me._

I jolted awake, and saw my clock said it was only twelve thirty. I could go back to sleep. I took deep breathes, and closed my eyes. I thought of a fantasy; being held by a man who wanted me to be me. I could just imagine him telling me the things I wanted to hear.

I wished he was real as I drifted back off to sleep.

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading the first chapter! This should be kind of long, but I won't be working on it as much as other stories unless there's expressed interests in it...

_~Hawk_


	2. The Reaping

**Chapter 2: **_The Reaping_

I got up at five thirty like clockwork. Energy is humming through my veins that I can't describe. It's keeping me wired like I'm on a morphine drip.

I made eggs because I'm sick of mush. I ate some, and then saved the rest for my grandmother. I go back upstairs and get ready, braiding my hair and putting on the dress. I don't put on any jewelry because I don't have any.

I put on a gold pair of sandals that had also belonged to my mother. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a carbon copy of her, wearing all of her clothes, or if it's just a natural thing. I haven't been able to ask anyone because I'm never around people unless I'm fixing their clothes.

I leave before my grandmother is awake. I'm almost as sick of her as I am mush.

I walk alone to the Reaping. It sounds like it's really bad, but not all of the time. True, there's nothing good for the tributes, but, for the other people, they get to hug each other and celebrate the fact they didn't get chosen.

I stand in the town square, one of the first people to come. I stared at the ground, looking at the cobblestone. I was suddenly tired and beginning to drift off.

"Has the mighty cub already been vanquished?" I looked up to see Marcus.

"No," I told him, bringing my palms to my elbows. "I'm just tired."

He stared at me for a moment. "Can I do anything for you?" He asked me.

"Unless you can give back massages, no." I explained to him.

"Not in public, cub." He told me. "I will see you soon, Cleopatra." I watched as he walked away from me. I looked at his cloth of gold silk shirt and his black dress pants. He looked like he was about to go to a party, not give two young adults a death sentence.

More people were beginning to filter in. It's only eight fifteen, and the Reaping won't start until at least eight thirty. If the Capitol can do one thing, it's getting the Districts up earlier than usual on a Sunday morning.

It's quarter to nine when a Peacekeeper blew his trumpet; the signal for everyone to become quiet. I looked around and I saw my grandmother, next to some of the other old people.

"Hello!" Marcus's voice was booming when he was trying. "Welcome to the first step to the thirteenth Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor," he added.

A young Peacekeeper came out with one bowl.

"Ladies first," Marcus said, smiling. He seemed to be one of the few people from the Capitol whose face had not been grotesquely altered by plastic surgery. He easily plucked a piece of paper from the bowl. "Cleopatra Shaft!" He announced.

Silence. The eeriest silence I've ever heard. Nobody knew my real name—first or last. They think Cleopatra Shaft is made up.

Then I hear my grandmother stifle a laugh. "That girl won't last an hour in the games! She's _useless_!" She didn't care. I was glad. If I won, I wondered if I could get away with burning her to ashes.

People turn around and look at me. They obviously realized _I_ was Cleopatra Shaft because I was the only person they didn't know. The girls parted for me, and I found myself walking forward. I hadn't known it'd feel like this…my throat felt like it was closing, and my chest felt as if a boa constrictor was winding itself tighter and tighter around me.

Marcus watched me as I walked up the stairs. I couldn't tell what he was thinking—I'd never been able to read people—but right now, I think he was thinking my grandmother was right. I didn't stand a chance in the Hunger Games.

I had to try. Had to try because I had to prove I was something more than a girl to be married off. I couldn't be that. I needed to be something else…something more _original_.

"Took a moment, eh? Not used to your name, are you?" He asked me, in a rather joking manner. "Loosen up, Cleopatra Shaft!" He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and rubbed my arm. He leaned in. "Relax, you'll be fine. We'll prove her wrong."

The same Peacekeeper came forth with another bowl.

"And now for the gentlemen; maybe this tribute will know who he is!" Marcus said, causing everyone but the boys (and even a few of them) and myself to laugh. Though I did manage a smile, somehow; I have no idea why. "Nixon James!"

I did not know the sandy-ish haired boy that came up. He was probably fifteen, but I'd never been good with figuring out a person's age.

"Well, we have some good looking tributes this year." Marcus smiled. He could smile; he was from the Capitol. He probably had no idea about what the people in the crowds were thinking. Then again, I didn't really know either. Nobody talked to me. I only had my own feelings about the Hunger Games to go on.

I could see a flicker of uncertainty on his face. It disappeared quickly and his easy attitude reappeared.

"I hope you all celebrate well, and hope the odds are in District 8's favor this year!" He said to the crowd. Some people clapped, other cheered. A couple shouted out for Nixon encouragements. I got the feeling he was the well liked one out of the two of us.

Marcus escorted us off stage. Peacekeepers came forth, but he shooed them off; it was almost like he was protecting us.

"Today marks the beginning of the rest of your lives." He told us as we used a passage to go into the Justice building. He stopped before going up a flight of stairs, turned, and then looked at us. "This is the _thirteenth_ Hunger Games. Careers from 1, 2, and 4 have one nine out of thirteen. Others won out of pure luck. I look at you and see potential Victors. Trust me and I'll help you make District 8 proud." He told us.

_District 8 proud…District 8 doesn't give a damn about me. _

Nixon smiled. It was a subtle smirk, really. "District 8 is already proud of me." He told Marcus.

The escort raised his perfect eyebrows. "Can your District fund you in the Games? Judging by your look, I'd say _no_. So make your District even more proud by attracting investors who give you enough fancy gifts so that you survive." Even though Marcus was shorter than Nixon, only by an inch or two, he didn't seem to care.

No…he didn't care. He knew Nixon wouldn't hurt him, at least when we're still in District 8. In the Justice building that is crawling with Peacekeepers.

They stood there for a moment, the air filled with tension. I cleared my throat and Marcus's eyes flashed towards me. In that brief second, Nixon nearly swung at Marcus. The escort ducked and my fellow tribute's fist smashed into the wall.

He hissed, but Marcus looked like he was going to laugh.

"I may be the Capitol, but I'm also a guy. Don't think I don't fight just because my shirt is more expensive than your bed." Marcus said to him. "Now come on, they'll be wondering where we are."

I walked behind Marcus, trying to keep the two from being close to each other. It worked, and we made it to the rooms where people would come to say good bye.

I sat on the couch, thinking nobody would come and see me. The door opened, and my grandmother came in.

"I told you _Patrice_ was a _safe_ name. You idiotic child, you refused to listen." She spat.

I flexed my hands. "I guess I forgot to tell you that I don't listen to old hags." I told her. "You should leave. I don't want you here." I told her.

My grandmother looked at me, and I stared right back. She flung something at me and left. I caught it before it fell to the floor.

It was a small box. I opened it, and there was a letter. But I couldn't read. It was a bunch of strange and foreign symbols I didn't understand.

I _almost_ cried. I _almost_ cried because I was stupid and worthless and no one could change that.


	3. The Train Ride (Part 1)

**Author's Note**: Well, I hope all of you readers like this! I'm actually trying...

Reviews are my Mockingjay pin! :)

**Chapter 3** _The Train Ride_ (Part 1)

Marcus opened the door and I wiped my eyes, even though nothing was there.

"Times up—Cleo, are you alright?" He asked me.

"I can't read." I told him, even though I knew he already knew that. "I can't read and my grandmother gave me this, but I don't understand it."

He came over and took the letter from me. It wasn't in the harsh way I always thought people from the Capitol would act. It was tender as he did it, and his eyes scanned over the paper. "Cub, I'll read this to you later. We have to go now, alright?"He told me. "You can sleep a bit on the train, relax yourself before the Capitol."He handed the letter back to me, and I put it in the box.

I got up from the couch, and he put his arm around my shoulder. "I saw your grandmother leave. I don't blame you for wanting to leave." He said to me as we walked down the hall we'd come in. He opened one door with the tipoff his boot; it apparently had no lock. The door opened and Nixon had his hands tangled in blonde hair. He jerked up when Marcus cleared his throat.

"Win for me, okay?" The girl told him.

He smiled; a completely different smile then Marcus's, because Nixon had imperfect teeth and his face seemed completely different then our escort's. "I'll do my best, babe."

"Tick tock Nixon, the Capitol doesn't have much patience." He told the younger man—boy.

We left the Justice building. Peacekeepers tried to follow, but Marcus dismissed them with a wave of his hand. It was like…they were afraid of him.

Even though Marcus had long since let go of me, I was closer to him that I probably had to be. I didn't care. What was somebody going to do about me standing next to my escort?

That sounded _way_ better in my head…

There wasn't a lot of buzz around the train station, just a couple people that were not my grandmother. _She knows I can't read. She knew and still gave me the letter_. My hands balled up into fists. _She hates me. Then again, I hate her, too._

The train was warm, which was welcomed as I was still wearing the sleeveless silk dress.

"You two should eat. You look starving, Cleo, what did you eat this morning?" Marcus asked me, his eyes flicking up and down my body.

"Eggs, and I'm not starving." I told him.

Nixon made a sound from the back of his throat. "And here I thought you were mute." He said, "Shame."

Marcus gave him dagger eyes. I didn't really catch whatever was going on between them—I'm rather sure I didn't want to.

We walked into the dining cart. A guy with long black hair sat at the end of the table. He was reading a book. I felt a pang of jealousy.

Marcus stopped short, staring at the man. "Crap, and here I thought we'd be meeting you at the training center."

The man closed the book and his eyes flicked up to us. I instantly noticed one eye was cloudy, and there was a scar from the upper left corner of his right eye to the opposite corner.

"You're Orpheus," I heard myself say. _He's the victor of the __**first **__Hunger Games. He's the one who came back from the dead._

And then I realized I was screwed when Nixon said: "Who's Orpheus?"

The man chuckled. This _living_ legend was in the dining car of the train that was taking me to the Capitol which would be where I trained for the Hunger Games. But I was still stuck on the fact that Orpheus was in the dining car, chuckling.

"Nixon, this is Orpheus. He's the first victor and your mentor." Marcus said, after taking a deep breath.

"My what?" He asked, dumbfounded. I was still staring at Orpheus. Why would he be mentoring District 8? He's from District 7!

He looked at me with his one eye. Both still moved at the same time, but it was common information that he was partially blind in his right eye after his Game. Even the Capitol's fancy machines couldn't fix it completely.

"It's the 13th Hunger Games. There are finally enough previous victors that they can mentor the new tributes." Marcus explained.

"Why are you mentoring us, and not District 7?" I asked him, looking at him. I couldn't tear my eyes off him.

"I owe someone." He answered me, standing up. He was taller than Nixon by at least five inches. He had on a plain black u-shirt and black corduroys.

I stared at him, still dumb found. This was…amazing, and shocking. And utterly thrilling. My blood hummed with excitement. This was _Orpheus_!

"You look hungry," he observed.

"The cub says she's not." Marcus mentioned, rather casual in his tone. "Maybe you can convince her to eat."

He smiled at me. "Cleopatra, is it?" I nodded. He pulled out a chair for me. "Come, enjoy this food while you can." He told me. I sat down and he pushed the chair in for me. The food I was looking at was nothing that I had seen before.

"Something simple, perhaps? You look like you'd enjoy sweet potato casserole." Orpheus took a plate and loaded food on to it. He also poured me a glass of a drink that tasted like black berries.

During our meal, we (Nixon and I) were casually asked questions by both Marcus and Orpheus. Not surprisingly, both were becoming annoyed with Nixon.

Apparently, Nixon's parents had been well off enough that he'd gone to school. It was rare, but it could still happen in District 8. He was supposed to have become a factory manager, not that much unlike Samuel. Except factories were more dangerous than warehouses. He moped about not being able to marry his girlfriend. He whined about how it wasn't fair that he—apparently a 'good citizen'—had gotten picked over his brother, an apparent trouble maker.

Neither looked amused by the last comment. Orpheus's left eye seemed to dilate as his thumb ran along the rim of his glass. Marcus stared at a serving knife next to a pie plate. I wondered how sharp that was.

"The cub is now well fed…will she sleep now, I wonder?" Marcus said to Orpheus.

"She looks as if she'll fall asleep in her chair." Orpheus replied, smiling. He did not seem like the cruel man from the first Game, as all the reruns seemed to focus on. He got up and pulled my chair out for me, and extended his hand to help me up.

Marcus watched. I knew he had watched because when I looked at him, his eyes were on the spot where I'd been seconds before.

"I'll show you to your room, Cleo." He told me.

"Orpheus! I'm her escort!" He jumped up, knocking his chair back. "I'll show her."

I smiled, my back to Marcus. That was cute, and it was kind of fun. He touched my shoulder, and I glanced back. My eyes met his, and he stayed in the dining car.

Orpheus and I walked through two more carts to reach the bedroom car. Whatever had been in that drink had me leaning on my new mentor. He put his arm around my waist, keeping me up. It felt…protective. That made me feel safe and I put my head against his chest as we walked.

Orpheus opened the door to my room. "You should sleep these next few hours. We'll wake you up before we get to the Capitol." He told me as he helped me onto the bed. He walked over to the drawers against one wall of the room and got out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a camisole. "These will be a bit more comfortable to sleep in. Sleep well," he placed the clothing on top of the drawers and walked out.

I changed quickly, taking off my sandals. I just collapsed on my bed, sleep taking me over quickly.


	4. The Train Ride (Part 2)

**Author's Note: **For few people reading this, thank you! Sorry that it's a bit shorter than the other chapters… I hope plot & character development makes up for it!

**Chapter 4: **_The Train Ride_ (Part 2)

I woke up to someone screaming. I was out of my bed and into the hall. A bedroom was open; that one was empty. The next one was open and dark, and I heard fumbling around. Marcus cursed as he hit his toe against something, then flicked on a lamp.

I was at Orpheus's side. He was crying out and jerking on the bed.

"Wake up!" I was trying to shake him.

"Cleo-"Marcus started to say something.

"No!" Orpheus's voice was a whimper. "Virginia!" His hands reached out, grabbing me. I was pulled down onto him—I think rather unintentionally.

The sudden weight on his chest caused him to wake up, gasping. I pulled up slightly.

"Rough night?" I asked him.

He stared at me for a moment. "Did I hurt you?" He asked me, ignoring _my_ question. Figures.

"Nah, I'm fine," I responded. "Really though, are you okay?" I asked him.

He blinked. "I'm fine…I think."

"Just great…" Marcus mumbled. I shot him a glare. He looked into my eyes, rather defiantly. Like he was daring me. "The one mentor…" I got the hint.

"_Back off_," I told him. "He won the _first_ Hunger Games. Show some respect." I stared at Marcus.

Marcus, who'd been leaning against the wall, walked to Orpheus. "If you're not up to this-"

"I'm up to this," he snapped, sitting up. I sat by his feet.

"Let me finish, okay? If you're not up to this whole mentoring thing, tell me before the other districts get an advantage. Should I be looking for a co-mentor?" He asked him.

"No. I'm helping the tribute that I think can win. The other one fends for themselves." Orpheus replied.

I closed my eyes. That was me, wasn't it? Even though Nixon was stuck up, he'd been on a sports team. He was stronger and probably faster than me. He had muscles everywhere while I only had them in my fingers from clothes making or repairing.

"Maybe we shouldn't be discussing this in front of the little cub…" Marcus said softly. "Cleo, are you alright?"He asked me.

"I'm going to die, aren't I? There's no hope for me in the games. The Careers _trained_ for this. I have nothing." All of this had just suddenly dawned on me. Hope felt like it was gone, and it wasn't coming back.

Orpheus wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. "I'm not helping Nixon," he whispered into my ear.

It was still loud enough for Marcus to hear. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank god," he said softly.

I relaxed in Orpheus's arms. With the District 7 Victor's help, could I win the Games?

Hope was a spark. If treated right, it could grow into a blazing fire. I could kindle hope.

"Can I sleep in here?" I asked Orpheus.

He smiled a little bit. "Fine by me," he said and then looked at Marcus. "As long as he's cool with it."

Marcus stared at him for a moment, as if he hadn't heard what we'd said. He blinked before responding. "Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose that's fine." He told us, "Good night then. I hope you both sleep easier." Marcus walked out.

I hadn't registered til then he was shirtless. With his back to me, I saw he had a tattoo on his shoulder. Gems were encrusted on his skin, clearly standing out against his smooth skin. How could someone do that to their body? Well, at least it was more normal then other thing the citizens of the Capitol could do… I think.

I put my head against Orpheus's chest as we laid down. He smelled like pine trees and smoke. It was rather intoxicating.

I fell into a peaceful sleep—no nightmares, just dreams. I'm not sure where I was, exactly. It was an enclosed garden, a small waterfall silhouetted by glass walls and ceilings. It felt tropical, with exotic plants all over the place.

I was on a stone bench, and I felt lighter—as if a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I could breath, but there was also sorrow.

I got up and looked at something. A stone carved with symbols I didn't understand.

A tombstone.

I woke up, held tightly by Orpheus. He was still asleep… Sun shined in from the window, across his face.

I had my chin on his chest as I looked at his face. The scar wasn't as bad as some people said it was. It was a faint mark across his eye. His actually eye had been healed, but the interworking parts in it (I couldn't find any other way to describe it—I came from District 8, where there are factories. Not 1 or 2 with eye doctors,) couldn't be healed. Or he hadn't wanted them to be fixed. The stories varied depending on who was telling them.

His skin was rather pale, his scar standing out, as well as his jet black hair. His face was angular, not unappealing at all. Rather pleasing, actually…

I was still looking at him when his eyes opened. Light green eyes, like faded spring leaves. His right eye was cloudy, and it was clear to see.

"Good morning," I told him, bringing my hands under my chin, on his chest.

"Good morning," he said back to me. "Sleep well?" He asked me.

"Much better, thanks, and you?" I responded.

"No more nightmares… So I suppose I can't complain," he told me.

"That's always a good thing," I told him, retuning to lying my head on his chest.

"We should get up," he told me softly, "Before Marcus starts hounding us."

I sighed, moving off of him. We got up and I shuffled my feet, half way to the door before he stopped me. "Thank you," he told me simply.

"For what?" I asked him, kind of confused.

"For being there when you didn't have to be." He explained.

"You're welcome," I told him, then went closer and hugging him. I surprised him, and it took him a second to hug me back. But it was warm, and I liked it. I liked his arms around me. I felt safe in those arms.

We pulled away and I walked right across the hall and went through the drawers in my room to find a decent change of clothes.


	5. The Train Ride (Part 3)

**Chapter 5: **_The Train Ride_ (Part 3)

I found a yellow shirt with a butterfly design and faded grey jeans. After getting changed and slipping back into my sandals, I walked out to the dining cart.

Orpheus was eating a plate of eggs and ham while Marcus was picking at some fruit and yogurt. Before I had even said good morning to the latter, he was talking to me.

"We will be arriving in the Capitol by noon. Nixon will not be joining us until then, as seeing he seems to be _occupied_, so I thought it'd be a great time for the three of _us_," he gestured to the three of us in the room, "to get to know each other." He took a deep breath after he had gotten all of that out. "Good morning, by the way. You look pretty today. Nice outfit for your debut in the Capitol."

Orpheus looked up at me and smiled. "He's finally right for once. You do look very pretty, Cleo." My mentor told me.

I sat down next to him, and he portioned out lavish breakfast foods for me. I thought about telling him that I just wanted eggs, but the food looked so good.

As we ate, Marcus began to grill us.

"What are your favorite colors?" He asked us.

"Emerald green," Orpheus responded.

I finished chewing my food. "Sapphire blue," I told him. "What's yours?"

Marcus's eyebrows rose for a moment. "I don't have one. I'm from the Capitol, remember? I only follow the trend." His eyes flashed to Orpheus.

That was the first clue that there had been a fight between them that I received.

"You have to have one." I told him.

"Tawny," he responded before taking a sip of orange juice. "Like tiger eye. Favorite thing to do?"

Orpheus glanced at me, then at Marcus. "My answer isn't exactly appropriate for all company present." He explained, relaxing in his chair.

I thought about that for a moment. What _did_ I like to do? "I don't know. What about you?"

Marcus smiled, "talking to beautiful women, of course."

Orpheus glared at him; the kind of _you're-taking-this-too-far_ glare. "Moving on…" he suggested.

"Mm? Oh, right. What shall I ask next?" Marcus mused out loud.

I picked more at my food, not really wanting to be part of this conversation. But I was stuck with these two for the next week or so before the Games _actually_ started. Then it was probably good bye forever…

I blinked back a sudden tear.

"And then this—Cleo?" Marcus stopped mid-sentence. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Orpheus touched my arm. It was warm and comforting and I could smell that pine scent that was naturally his. I stared into his light green eyes.

"Are…" he shook his head, "Never mind..."

I looked away from both of them. "I'm going to go back to my room." I told them, getting up and walking back, away from them.

I walked into someone in the bedroom car hall. Not Nixon, and definitely not Marcus or Orpheus.

"Oh, sorry," I told the person.

They silently got up and walked away.

"Wait!" I turned around and pulled on her arm. "Are you ok?" I asked her.

Silence. She stared at me, and then Marcus came in from the dining car.

"Cleo, what are you doing with the Avox?" He asked me.

"The what?" I asked. _What the hell is an Avox?_

"She can't talk."

And here I'd been hoping that I wouldn't be the only girl. _Back to square one…_

I let go of her arm. "Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't know…" I said to the girl. She nodded, looking clearly embarrassed, and walked out.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. "Doing here, I mean; with me…In a hall, alone."

"I'm worried about you." He told me, reaching up and touching the corner of my eye with his fingertips. "I have a right to be. I mean, I'm your escort for the Games. I'm supposed to be with you most of the time. And I don't want you getting lost before we even get to the Capitol." He explained, lowering his hand.

"I'm just going to my bedroom." I told him.

"Who knows, maybe the sheets will try to strangle you." He joked. This whole conversation, he'd been leaning closer and closer to me. I could feel his heart beating slowly. I looked at him.

"What…are you trying to do?" I asked him.

He tucked hair behind my ear and pulled away. I breathed in, not knowing I hadn't been before then. "Nothing, little cub."

"Oh…alright then…" I almost had wanted him to kiss me. My stomach churned. _Wrong feelings; he's from the Capitol. The idiot people, remember? They're just trend followers; sheep with a shepherd. _Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him again, pressing my body against his.

His left hand tilted my head. He bent his head down…

I stared into his hazel eyes…so beautiful…

His lips came down on mine; just soft lips against each other. He pulled away, smiling. "Do you want more?" He asked me.

"N-no," I stuttered. I knew my voice sounded unsure. I was unsure. But I knew I couldn't let Marcus into my bubbled world. He was from the Capitol. I was from District 8. 8+0=8, that much I knew. So just '8' meant that together we were nothing. Nothing and just useless. We weren't right for each other. He had to know that. But did he care?

The door to the hall slid open. I saw Orpheus's silhouette and I pulled away from Marcus. Stupid Marcus, with his stupid smile and his stupidly beautiful eyes and his stupidly handsome face and build and why was I still thinking about him?

"Good, you're both in one place." Orpheus's voice didn't show that he noticed something was off. "The conductor said we'd be at the Capitol in fifteen minutes. It'd be best if you got your stuff together, Marcus, and woke up Nixon." He told the escort.

He glanced at me before responding. "Right, that'd be best…"

I walked by him and to Orpheus. The man was quick to put his arm around me.

"Are you alright?" He asked. Why did I feel like I had heard that question fifty times in the past three days?

"Yeah, I'm just…I feel like I'm wired, and all jittery. Is this normal?" I asked him, looking up into his eyes.

"I felt dread. And disgust." Orpheus told me, not bothering to sugarcoat. "Look, that's the 'beloved' Capitol." We had walked back into the dining hall and we were looking out of the train's windows.

"It's beautiful," I said out loud. Like a modern oasis, compared to District 8. Home was urban, and the Capitol was urban, but in a different way; modern and more high tech, but still mostly simplistic. Most buildings were bright colors, and it was beautiful.

Then I saw the Training Center. I knew it was the Training Center because it looked the same as it did on TV—_twelve_ stories high, lots of windows, and a small garden on top.

It felt like a huge _Oh my god_ factor.

"Despite everything, the Capitol is pretty impressive, eh?" Orpheus asked me.

"_Impressive?_ This is _amazing_! This must be like how a slave would feel when they went to Ancient Greece or Rome. It's so _beautiful_…" I told him.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the window until we were at the train station. Somewhere along the way, Marcus and Nixon had come into the dining car.

"Home sweet home," Marcus said, glancing out the window.

Orpheus looked at him. "Sweet? Don't get me started." He told him.

Marcus, the clearly smaller man, looked over his shoulder. "Home is home. However I perceive it is _my _way, Orpheus. Frankly, I don't like your precious District 7." He responded before walking out of the train, Nixon following.

I saw anger flame in Orpheus's eyes for a moment. "Alright then; Cleo, it's time for you to see the Capitol in all of its hungry glory." He told me, taking my hand into his.

I took a deep breath as I walked out of the train.

**Author's Note:** Well, I hoped you liked the latest chapter! I'll hopefully get 6 up soon, but I'm working on my other stories as well, plus getting ready for the totally not useless State Tests and Finals, etc. Thanks for reading and please review!

~_HolleringHawk65_


	6. The Capitol (Part 1)

**Chapter 6:** _The Capitol _(Part 1)

I wasn't allowed to see much of the Capitol. Just a couple streets filled with dramatically dressed citizens.

The training center was big; intimidating so. Orpheus and I went into the elevator and up to the eighth floor. It opened up to an apartment style place I'm sure will never exist back home in District 8.

Leather couches, white walls, dark brown wood floors, red carpets strewn about rather haphazardly, paintings decorating the walls. A flat screen TV was mounted to the wall and turned off.

Orpheus looked around, and took a deep sigh. "This is…"

"Amazing?" I suggested.

"The Capitol," he finished, looking at me as if I was crazy. "This is one of the few places you're going to be allowed to see."

And I was pulled back to reality. My brief thoughts of glamour and happiness were yanked away, but still dangling in front of my face.

"Right…"

Nixon and Marcus came in from wherever they'd been; the former looking rather pissed off. Orpheus looked at the escort, but I had no idea what kind of silent exchange went between them.

"The two of you are supposed to meet with your stylists soon, or whenever they decide it's convenient for them to show up." Marcus explained. "When you're meeting with them, Orpheus and I should-"

"We should let the two of them get acquainted now, and we'll start our discussion _now_." My mentor told him.

I sat down on the couch, almost afraid that someone would start yelling. Probably at me, too. It'd been easy for my grandmother to do that for no reason.

"All right then," Marcus said, and then sighed. "To the rooftop for some privacy?" he asked.

"Fine," the two went back into the elevator, leaving me alone with Nixon.

Silence hung between us. I drew my knees up to my chin, feeling vulnerable with the two men gone. Vulnerable, alone, and stupid.

"So, are you bi-polar or something? Don't like talking if they aren't around?" Nixon asked me.

I looked at him, feeling something start to uncoil in me; anger. Like a viper, I nearly felt the urge to pounce on him. But I stayed coiled up, waiting for a better time.

"My guess is that they're both using you, eh? Don't like the boys in District 8? Not good enough for you?" He continued on, and I began to tune them out.

_Using me? They're helping me. He needs to just shut up. I'm not asking much._

The elevator doors opened, and I hoped to see Marcus and Orpheus; there to save me from Nixon. But it was two people who I'd seen on TV before—the stylists.

The man had wavy purple hair, shocking green eyes, not to mention porcelain skin that was paler than mine. His lips were normal; compared to last year when they'd been a dark purple. I couldn't remember what District he'd been for, I think it'd been 8, but it could've been 12…

The woman was…

I swallowed as I remembered.

She had been Orpheus's stylist. They still occasionally did interviews together. She had short, pixie blonde hair with streaks of grey and orange. Her skin was tan and she had soft red lipstick on. Her eyes were a soft grey.

I stared at her, and I felt my mouth opening slightly. She was so beautiful…

She had on a red shirt that rested right above her belly button, and over that was a cropped pink silk jacket with bell sleeves. She had on grey denim short shorts and white lace up boots to her knees. In addition, she also had several pieces of jewelry and a large white crossbody.

"Bonjour!" she said as she walked in. "Je m'appelle Blair, et il appelle Thomas." She told us.

She'd lost me at 'Bonjour.'

"I'm Cleo," I told her, standing up and extending my hand.

She smiled at me. "I've heard a lot about you already," her voice was singsong and sweet. "In case you didn't catch it, my name is Blair." She re-introduced herself.

"Oh," was the only intelligible-ish syllable to fall from my lips.

Just at that moment, Orpheus and Marcus stepped out from the elevator. I almost fainted from the pure elation that I would not be struggling to hold up my end of a conversation.

That quickly disappeared when I realized the two had been arguing about something.

Orpheus was staring at the ground till he'd bumped into Blair, having been completely oblivious to her being here. He looked up at the woman who had now turned around.

"Blair?" he clearly hadn't known that it would be her that was one of our stylists.

"Hey," she said, placing her hand on the back of the couch. "Ever heard of keeping in touch?" She asked, cocking her head slightly.

"I… ah… Marcus! This is Blair," he said, pulling the escort by the arm.

Marcus glanced at me before giving his attention to Blair, shooting me a small smile. "Hello, I think we've met before; perhaps at one of my sister's parties?" He asked the stylist.

"Perhaps. Sorry for arriving late, but Thomas over there stayed out a bit too late and drank a bit too much." She explained.

Marcus glanced at Thomas. "Maybe this morning as well, eh?" He joked.

Blair smiled. "Possibly," she responded. "Shall we get to work?" She asked us. "I brought some sketches for the dress Cleopatra would wear for the interview." She opened her bag and pulled out a sketchbook.

Within a few minutes, I found myself sitting in next to Marcus, looking over his lap at all of Blair's sketches.

All of them were pretty, but a bit outrageous. I couldn't imagine myself in any of them…

"She _is not_ wearing that one," Marcus said as Blair turned to the page to a dress with a slit starting at the top and ending at my hips. In the sketch, my cleavage seemed to narrowly avoid falling out.

"That one wasn't for her," Blair said, clearly flushed. She quickly moved to the next page. "This is my last one, and then we have to go to the drawing board." She told us.

I gasped at the sketch. The skirt was full ballroom style, then a leather corset that would lead up to a silk upper top. The three quarter sleeves would be fitted with lace at the end.

Marcus was silent for a moment, staring at it. "She'd…That'd be perfect," he said softly.

I wouldn't say 'perfect' but it was a great improvement. "Orpheus?" I said to my mentor.

He was looking at it, then looked up at me, and then finally at Blair. "It'd be good; you'd look great. We just have to finish it before the week is over. Would that even be possible?" he asked Blair.

She bit her lower lip for a moment. "It should be. If I get Cleopatra's measurements now, while the two of you are meeting with Thomas about Nixon, I should be able to start it tonight." She explained to us.

"Then it is a done deal?" Marcus asked her.

"Yeah, I'll just look for some accessories and we should be good." She told him.

"Great!" Marcus clapped his hands together. "We'll talk with Thomas now, see what he has, if anything." He told Blair.

"Okay; Cleopatra, do you want to go get measured now?" She asked me.

"Sure," I felt so nervous still. She was nice, and hadn't given me a reason to think she wasn't, but I almost didn't want to leave both men behind, leaving me alone with Blair.

We walked across the living room and to a set of doors that slid open. Blair walked in first and gestured for me to come in. I obediently followed.

She produced a tape measure from her bag, and then took it off.

"If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can do this with your clothes on," she told me, sensing my hesitation.

I nodded my head, my voice suddenly failing me. I could feel the discomfort in it; a sign talking would be a poor choice.

She kneeled in front of me and put the top of the tape measure at my hip, and down to my foot. The next measurement was the inseam of leg, and then from my hips to my shoulders. Next, it was from my shoulder to the middle of my forearm, and then from the underside of my arm to the same place.

"There! All done," Blair told me, smiling. "You were so much easier than Orpheus! You know, he actually tried to attack the other stylist? Poor man could barely help the girl!" I noticed how she didn't say their names.

I thought back to Orpheus's nightmare, and how he'd cried out 'Virginia.' Had she been the other tribute from District 7?

I almost asked Blair, but the doors slid open and Marcus walked in. "We have to go to the Tribute dinner in an hour," Marcus told us. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, we just finished." Blair told him. "Should I help Cleopatra get changed?"

"Changed?" I asked them.

"The Tribute dinner is when all the tributes meet, along with their escorts and stylists. I guess the mentors as well this year." Marcus explained. "It's usually a sob filled affair."

I could tell that a yellow shirt and jeans wouldn't be the best of choices for that. I resigned myself to Blair's choice in clothes and her doing my hair.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't look like Patrice from District 8, the old hag's granddaughter. I looked like Cleopatra Shaft, the Tribute from District 8 in the 13th Hunger Games.

As we walked out of my room, Blair went over to a patiently waiting Orpheus. Marcus came over to me, putting his arm around me. A comforting gesture.

His head bent down, his lips right next to my ear.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," my voice was a whisper as well; if I tried for anything louder, it'd be a rasp.

All six of us, Nixon, still in his same traveling clothes, with Thomas, went down the elevator, where a limo was waiting for us. We all got in, and I sat next to Marcus.

I out my head against his shoulder, breathing in his soothing herbal scent. His words still rang in my head as my eyes closed for a nap.

However much later, I woke up when Marcus gently shook me awake. "Little cub, we're at the hall." He told me.

I gulped.

It was time to meet the other tributes.

**Author's Note: **Wow, it feels like it's been a long time for this! Anyways, I wa kinda stuck in what I wanted to happen in this, but that's past and I should be good for a while! Please read and review, and until next time!

~_HolleringHawk65_


	7. The Capitol (Part 2)

**Chapter 7:**_ The Capitol _(Part 2)

Marcus helped me out of the limo. We walked next to each other, I think as close as possible. I didn't try to pull away. A look from Orpheus wasn't one of disdain, but one of curiosity as he held hands with Blair.

Then Nixon was just his douchebag self, coupled and enhanced by Thomas's douchebag-ness.

The Hall was filled with people, probably only missing a few Districts. Marcus pulled away from me then, as Orpheus did with Blair. I guess that they thought anybody watching would not appreciate a possible relationship between a person from a District and one from the Capitol?

Or would they eat it up like starved wolves after a bloody battle?

Before I knew it, all the stylists were mingling together, Victors drifted together, probably to discuss how idiotic this whole 'mentor' thing was and I was still with Marcus. I watched as other tributes began to talk to each other.

The Career group was already forming, and I saw Nixon with them. He turned around as I put distance between Marcus and myself, and pointed me out to the Careers.

I thought, very distantly, that there was no way they could be talking about potential threats yet. They were most likely making fun of me.

I bumped into someone, causing me to stumble back. I was nearly about to fall when the person grabbed my hands and steadied me.

I looked at the person, feeling quite embarrassed.

He was roughly my age, with tan skin and dark blue eyes. He had a lean build, and dimples when he smiled. I had to wonder what his honey blonde hair would feel like in between my fingers.

"Lost your balance?" He asked me, smiling. His teeth weren't yellow, more like an off white; certainly not half as blinding as the Capitol's citizens'.

"Kind of," I responded.

"You're from District 8, right? Cleopatra? I watched your Reaping on the way from District 4." He explained to me. "I'm Nyle, by the way."

"Yeah, hi…" I managed, my throat feeling like it was a boa constrictor squeezing somebody (preferably Nixon) to death.

A girl with black hair and grey eyes walked over. She was skinny, and wear tight blue jeans and a grey sweater.

"Nyle! There you are!" She said, walking closer to us. "Oh, hi! You're Cleopatra Shaft, right? I'm Smoke, from District 12," she extended her hand. I took it and gave it a shake.

As I looked at her, I saw a faint dusting of freckles, and a scar on the inside of her wrist as her sleeve moved up to pick something off of Nyle's shoulder. She couldn't be more than fourteen, but here she was, not even crying. When she opened her mouth, I saw she had a tiny gap between her two upper teeth.

The two had been talking about something as I focused on Smoke.

"Do you mind if I call you Cleo?" The girl asked me.

I smiled. "No," my throat was still bothering me, and it was still uncomfortable to talk.

As a man passed us with a platter filled with wine, I took a glass and had a sip; warm, sweet wine, probably with honey. I smiled as warmth lazily filled me as I took another sip.

"Ah, much better," I said, mostly to myself.

"Smoke! I have been looking everywhere for you!" All three of us turned around as a boy that looked nearly exactly like the young girl, came up to us.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't gone gallivanting off with our mentor, you'd have known where I was, Kevin." She told him, glancing at Nyle and me with fake annoyance as she playfully rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but he wanted me to meet the kids from 2—complete, utter, brutish idiots, by the way—and then the kids from 1—those are the two we should be looking out for." He explained, as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Then I got dragged into talking with the Careers and the boy from 8—just another douche."

For a second, I contemplated sticking up for Nixon, and then decided against it. I didn't want these three thinking I was friends with him.

"Ah, well, Kevin, this is Cleo, from District 8." Nyle introduced us.

"Oh, hi. Sorry for bashing your partner." He told me, freeing one hand from the tight confinement of his pocket to shake mine.

"Don't be, I think I've thought worse about." I explained him.

He smiled at me. "And I suddenly don't feel bad." He responded.

Nyle rolled his eyes. "All right then… Hey, have either of you seen Carmen or Jax?" He asked the two tributes from 12.

They exchanged a glance as I realized that instead of talking to Marcus and sharing a bed with Orpheus, I should've been paying attention to who the Tributes for the other districts were.

"I haven't seen either of them." Smoke told Nyle.

"Um, who are Carmen and Jax?" I asked quietly, and then quickly took another sip of wine.

"The tributes from District 11," Nyle explained. "We've kinda formed a group of sorts…"

"An alliance?" I asked.

The three turned and looked at me. It wasn't out of anger, but more of surprise. Like they hadn't realized what they'd been doing until I'd finally said it.

"Yeah, I guess we have," Smoke answered, smiling a little bit.

"That's kind of smart, considering the Careers. More than likely, they already have a few people." I thought out loud.

The three are still looking at me. It's kind of uncomfortable, but I didn't say anything about that.

"Cleo, would you … join our alliance?" Nyle asked me.

I look at him, meeting his eyes. _Did he actually ask me that? Do they actually think I can help them?_ "Sure, I guess; I wouldn't mind."

At that moment, we all heard clinking of a spoon against a glass. The four of us turned to the sound of the noise, and I felt my mouth go dry as I saw a middle-aged man standing there, holding his glass as he stood in front of his chair. We all recognized him—William Snow.

The President was about to give a speech.

**Author's Note:** Wow, it feels like this chapter took forever to do. What do you think of the new tributes? Please tell me in the review you readers will hopefully write!

~_HolleringHawk65_


	8. The Capitol (Part 3)

**Chapter 8: **_The Capitol _(Part 3)

I stood there, my pulse humming. I didn't know what he would say; the Tribute dinner was never televised.

I was pulled abruptly away from the group; my new Alliance. That term seemed so odd in my head, and on my tongue; like it didn't quite belong there.

I knew who was holding me before he showed me his face. His touch was already achingly familiar.

"Marcus," I said softly. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing with _them_?" He asked me.

"I _trust them_ more than any Career." I told him, knowing what he was thinking without him having to say anything. He thought I could worm my way into the Careers, but I wouldn't do that. They were just as bad as President Snow.

Speaking of Satan…

Our President began his speech.

"Tributes, Escorts, Stylists, _Victors_! Welcome to the official start of the Thirteenth Hunger Games!" His voice boomed across the room as I worked my way out of Marcus's arms and back to Nyle, who was now standing next to a dark skinned boy. I hid behind him, glancing at Marcus.

He looked at me, not with hatred, but something akin to disappointment. He…looked sad.

Nyle wrapped his right arm around my shoulders. "Here it comes," he whispered into my ear.

"The Thirteenth Hunger Games is a significant mile stone in our History because we can now have Victors being Mentors, assisting the Tributes in their respective districts."

"Then why is Orpheus working with District 8?!" The girl who spoke had thick red hair. "Why is he leaving us for idiots?" She asked President Snow.

His eyes skimmed over her, ignoring her question. Nyle gave a reassuring pat on my back. "That's Elizabeth, from 7. Don't worry too much about her; her bark is worse than her bite." He told me, his mouth right next to my ear.

Somehow, I couldn't feel at ease with the red head now glaring at me.

And I had no idea how he thought I could be.

The President continued. "With not every District having a Victor, we let them choose their Districts. Isn't that the least we could do?" He chuckled and some other people from the Capitol did as well.

I looked around the room, my eyes falling on Orpheus and Blair. The two were off in a corner, Blair with her face pressed into Orpheus's chest. She had to be crying, because he was trying to comfort her by stroking her hair.

"Continuing on, I would like to announce the new schedule. Instead of the old standard of twelve days in the Training Center, we're giving you six days. The Chariot Rides are tomorrow night, oh, and the interviews are two evenings after. Enjoy the time we've given you!" The President then walked out of the Hall.

The dread hit me. The shock settled in. Denial tried to creep in. And then reality came crashing down. Six days to train, two of them half taken by the need to prep for the Chariot Rides and Interviews. More, if I knew anything about Marcus and Blair.

My knees gave out, but Nyle was quick to hold me up. "Okay, I think it's time for you to go home. Where's your Escort?" He asked me.

"I don't know," I said softly. He'd picked me up by now, holding me to his chest. "He…he'd been over there," I gestured weakly.

I felt queasy, like something was rushing into my mouth. Before I knew it, I was no longer in Nyle's arms, but being held up by Marcus. I barely understood the words going on between the two; something about bad food, I think.

But the next thing I remember was Marcus cradling me against him, in the limo. My head was against his chest as he rocked me asleep.

I woke up lying on a bed bigger than the one that had been in my room. The sheets were a different material, and I was underneath a blanket, against a warm body.

"Oh my god!" I bolted up and away from said warm body.

"Lil' cub, what's wrong?" Oh, _GOD_, I was in _BED_ with _MARCUS_.

"You're-we're-why-ohmigod what happened!?" I felt my blood pressure rise and I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

We were both sitting up on the bed—Marcus's big, fancy bed that he got because he's a Capitol Escort for the Hunger Games.

"Relax, nothing happened, cub." He told me. "It just…it seemed like it would be easier to watch you and make sure you were okay…if you were in the same room as me." He told me.

I gulped. I gulped and I felt faint. Again. I felt weak and idiotic and why couldn't Nyle have just held me until I was okay?

Marcus was inches away from me. Inches away and I could smell his soap. Masculine, musky, and so _him_. Oh, why was I thinking this?

Even when I was on my knees, Marcus was taller than me. He tilted my head up and our lips met softly at first. Then he deepened to beyond a chaste kiss. And it was wonderful.

He pulled me close to him, as our kiss continued. And he didn't stop. Pulling me right up to him and…

In the morning, we were wrapped up in each other's arms. Marcus still held me close, and my head was against his chest.

_I'm a bad person. I just slept with my Escort; with a person from the Capitol. I'm not supposed to do that. It's bad and stupid and this can't end well for either of us._

I nuzzled against Marcus. He must've been awake because he chuckled and his lips brushed against my forehead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked me.

"No," I told him honestly.

He kissed my nose. "That's good, cub, because I didn't regret it either." He smiled. That beautiful, perfect, not too white, but defiantly white toothed smile. My stomach curled up in knots again.

His lips met mine again, but then he pulled away. "Come on, we need to get you to the Training Center." He told me, helping me up.

I gulped, and he helped me get dressed in different clothes than what I'd been wearing last night.

He kissed me again before we walked out. It was still pretty early, so I wasn't surprised to see no one at the open dining section of the apartment.

We sat down and just kind of looked at each other. My stomach was in knots and I don't think I was getting enough air to my lungs or brain or what it ever it was that was making me lightheaded.

"Are we going to tell anyone?" I asked him softly.

It took Marcus a moment to answer. "I don't think we should. That probably wouldn't end well, for either of us."

Private and secretiveness had always turned into lies and hiding and not telling the people who care about you what was really good. And it _never_ has ended well.

I got up and walked out of the room. I jumped as Marcus touched my arm. "Are you angry with me?" He asked.

I looked at him. "A little…how do you expect me to not tell anyone?" I asked him.

"By not opening your mouth?" He suggested.

I yanked my arm out of his grip. "Forget it." I heard myself say. I walked out of the apartment and into the elevator.

Before I knew it, I'd pressed the button that button that was on top before I could really think (though I had thought it would take me to the lobby). I was angry with Marcus and I walked out of the elevator as soon as it opened.

"Oh," I said softly. The roof? I had hit the button for the roof?

The day outside was brisk, and fog was slowly creeping out of the streets below. It looked like the Capitol was covered in a blanket from where I stood.

"Cleo?" I jumped again as I heard my name being said. I turned around and saw Nyle. "What happened? You look like you're about to cry." He told me.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Nothing major, just stuff with Marcus." I explained to him.

"How were you last night? I was pretty worried about you." He told me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," _I __**only**__ slept with Marcus_.

Nyle stepped forward and hugged me. Not a hug that demanded something from me, but a hug that was supposed to be comforting.

"I'm here for you, if you need me." He told me after he pulled away.

"Thanks, but I don't think…I don't think I need you," I said softly, unsure about what I could say to him.

Nyle looked dejected for a moment. But he didn't say anything.

His eyes swept over me, as if looking for something that was out of place.

"He hurt you, didn't he?" Nyle asked me; his voice had a steely edge to it.

"No…he didn't hurt me. Honestly." It was me who had hurt myself—for not be strong enough to say no to Marcus.

"Cleo, come on. I know you're lying."

"You want the truth? Marcus and I had sex. He took my virginity and it was the most mind-blowing thing I ever felt but he didn't want me to tell anyone so I left!" I told Nyle, finally exploding.

"Oh…"

I started crying. Crying from everything I guess.

Nyle hugged me again, and we slid to the floor. He held me as I cried.

The door swung open and Smoke was standing there. "Opps. I didn't mean to interrupt anything, but they're asking for all of the tributes to get downstairs."She told us. "Kind of right now." She added.

The two of us sighed. I knew Marcus would go downstairs, trying to find me. All I could do was stick with my allies and hope he'd stay away.

**Author's Note**: Sorry for taking a month to write this. Please don't hate me, I've been busy with testing (and will be soon again, unfortunately,) my grandparents coming to visit, etc. Not to mention slight writer's block for this. I really am going to try to write more…But I'm writing my RE fanfic, and also struggling with my Greek Mythology, so…I hope the long(ish, for this) chapter makes up for it!

Please review! : )

~_HolleringHawk65_


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